customers, I cut it out. Then at night I get out the rental book and I write down what they rented. You never know when something like that might come in handy.”
I closed the scrapbook and looked at her steadily.
She read my gaze. “But we’re not here to talk about that, are we? Today is about Kyle. As usual the cops have got their blinders on. There’s a lot likelier possibilities than our boy but, of course, nobody’s ever accused the cops of being able to take in the big picture.” Her mouth snapped shut, defying me to disagree.
“I need more than your opinion, Bebe,” I said.
“I’ve got more than my opinion. I could see every move she made. And the one she lived with, too,” she added triumphantly.
“Charlie.”
The hook stopped, and the old blue eyes looked at me with real interest. “Charlie,” she repeated. “So that’s his name. I never did know it. He kept to himself – not that you’d blame him with that face. The only time he went out was in the afternoons – I guess that’s when he worked.”
I took a deep breath. It was time to ask the question that had been nagging at me from the moment I saw the dying tomato plants on the kitchen table of the house next door. “Bebe, when was the last time you saw Ariel?”
She didn’t hesitate. “Two weeks ago Tuesday,” she said, rosy with the excitement of a person who had a humdinger of a story to tell. “About this time of day. Usually, you can set your clock by that guy with the face, but that day he came home early. He went inside. He wasn’t there long, then she came out, and Charlie was chasing after her. He was kind of crying and yelling at the same time.”
“Could you hear what he said?”
Her old head bobbed vigorously. “I had to lean out the window to pick it up clearly, but I heard every word, and I wished I hadn’t. I don’t like to see a man act like a whiny kid, and that’s how he acted.” She raised her voice in a falsetto. “ ‘Don’t leave me. I’ll do anything. I’ll be anything. Just stay.’ ” Bebe made a moue of disgust, and resumed her normal tone. “You would have thought he’d have more pride,” she said, “especially with another man there, listening to every word.”
I was baffled. “Where did the other man come from?”
“He was in the house with Ariel when that Charlie came home early.” She stopped crocheting, pursed her lips thoughtfully, and raised the little party dress in the air. “Needs another flounce, don’t you think?”
“A dress can’t have too many flounces,” I said.
Bebe narrowed her eyes at me. “You think I don’t know you’re making fun, but I do.”
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“No, you’re not. You’re worried if you get my dander up, I won’t finish my story, but I will. It’s too good a story not to finish. Now,” she said, “what I surmise is this – Charlie walked in and caught Ariel and her new boyfriend doing what comes naturally.”
“Having sex,” I said.
She rolled her eyes and tweaked her thumb and forefinger over her lips in a buttoning gesture.
“All right,” I said. “You don’t have to be explicit. Had you ever seen the man before?”
“Just that once, but I’ll never forget him.” Her eyes sparked with lust. “A magnificent-looking man – like an African prince.”
“He was black?”
“As the ace of spades,” she said. “And if the police had any brains at all, they’d be out looking for him and for that one with the birthmark and they’d be leaving Kyle alone.” She jerked her crochet hook free of the brilliantly pink yarn. The little dress was complete, and the interview was over. I picked up my purse and stood up.
Bebe waggled her finger at me. “Make sure you pass along what I told you to someone who can get it on the air.”
“I appreciate your seeing me,” I said.
Her expression grew shrewd. “Do you want to show your appreciation?”
I opened my bag. “I don’t have much cash with me. Could I write you a cheque?”
“I don’t want your money. I want Barbies.” She pointed to a large wicker basket beside her chair. It was half filled with dolls, naked but with hair newly washed and fingers tipped with fresh pink nail polish. “You get these from garage sales. Of course, they’re not like this when I get them. They’re a mess, but I clean them up, and make their little outfits. I’ll pay you two bucks a doll – no more, or my profits get eaten up. Be sure to check their feet. That’s where the puppies chew, and I can’t sell a doll if the toes are chewed off.
“I’m not very good at garage sales. I never seem to find the bargains.”
“Even a blind pig gets an acorn once in a while,” she said. “Give it a try.”
“All right,” I said. “I’ll give it a try.”
She picked up a fresh skein of yarn. “Now tell me again what you’re going to do.”
“I’m going to hit the garage sales and look for Barbies. I won’t pay more than two bucks apiece, and I’ll check their feet to make sure they’re not chewed.”
Bebe Morrissey stared at me in disbelief. “Jesus Christ and all the saints of heaven,” she said. “How did you ever get a job teaching at a university? What you’re going to do, Joanne Kilbourn, is go to your friends at NationTV and tell them to start sniffing around the African prince and the guy with the birthmark. And you’re going to tell them to leave our Kyle alone.”
CHAPTER
7
We own the last swimming pool in our neighbourhood. Savvy people, sick of summers plagued by sluggish pumps, cracked tiles, clogged filters, and four-figure bills for chemicals, have had their pools filled in. More than once, as I’ve opened the envelope from Valhalla Pool Service, I’ve considered them wise, but Taylor loves to swim. She is not a natural mermaid. Her body is small and dense, but she fights gravity and churns through the water with such antic joy that every spring we pull off the pool cover and begin again. And because she is too young to swim alone, more often than not I struggle into my shapeless old suit and join her.
That Tuesday afternoon, there was no altruism in my decision to take the plunge. By the time I got back from visiting EXXXOTICA, my head was reeling from the aftershocks of a martini and wine at lunch and a day’s worth of information that had wrapped itself around my brain and wouldn’t let go. A big-time headache was on its way, and I was counting on hydrotherapy to banish it.
Ed Mariani had been wise to dig out his Proust. It was a sweet spring day. The lemony afternoon sun was warm, and the air was heavy with the scent of lilacs. It was a day to swim and, apparently, a day to bask. Willie followed us down to the pool and, as soon as he’d settled in at poolside, Taylor’s cats, Bruce and Benny, streaked out of the house and took their places across the pool where they could catch a few rays and keep an eye on him.
After fifteen minutes, the water began to do its magic. With every lap, the tension loosened its grip on my temples; by the time Taylor, tired of paddling alone, began to swim beside me so we could chat, I was ready to keep up my end of the conversation.
“There’s a meeting tomorrow for the parent-volunteers before we go on our field trip to the Legislature,” she said.
“T, when our kids were little, I just about lived at the Legislature. I don’t think I need to be oriented.”
She duck-dived and swam a few strokes underwater, conveniently out of earshot. When she surfaced, she was ready. “There may be stuff you don’t know.”
“Try me.”
She dipped under and came up, showering drops. “What’s the building made out of?”
“Italian marble.”
She bobbed back under, and came up with a new question. “How many Members of the Legislative Assembly are there?”
